“A mistake,” I repeated dully. I thought of the way I’d felt in his arms. The way he’d kept the nightmares at bay.

Yeah, maybe that was a mistake. Because he’d given me peace—and I damn sure didn’t deserve it.

“You’re a fucking idiot. You know that, right?”

I gaped at Flynn over the coffee I was sipping to nurse my raging headache. “What the hell?”

I’d called Kat first for cupcakes and sympathy, but she’d had to go into the coffee shop to cover someone else’s shift. I’d ended up at Flynn’s, figuring that if anyone could cheer me up it would be him. So far, I was less than impressed with his technique. “When you said I should come over, I thought it was so you could make me feel better.”

“That was before I knew the full story. And that you plan to just let the guy walk. Like I said. Fucking. Idiot.”

“Let him walk? He practically sprinted.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “He doesn’t want me. And I sure as hell shouldn’t want him.”

He added some Tabasco to the Bloody Mary he was mixing, then slid it onto the counter in front of me.

I raised my steaming coffee mug. “Headache.”

“Trust me. This’ll knock it out a hell of a lot better than coffee.”

I rolled my eyes. Flynn held a firm belief in the healing powers of vodka. But despite my doubts, I sipped the drink—and had to acknowledge that it was pretty damn good.

I was sitting at the breakfast bar that was attached to the kitchen island. For the eight months we’d lived together, that had been my usual weekend perch. I’m not exactly competent in the kitchen, but Flynn can make anything taste good. At that moment, he was scrambling eggs, making hash browns, and frying up sausage patties, and the kitchen smelled like heaven.

He moved between the island and the stove with casual efficiency dressed in gray sweatpants and a John Barleycorn saloon T-shirt. He was damn good-looking, with deep-set eyes and a swoop of hair that fell over his brow, though he constantly pushed it out of the way. His obsession with jogging and biking kept him in shape, giving him a tight ass and the kind of biceps that made even the tallest woman feel petite. He could cook—which in my book was a plus—and I happened to know that he was a lot of fun in bed.

He flipped two sausage patties, then turned to me, his eyes narrowed. “What?”

I held up my hands in a gesture of innocence.

“You have that look. What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t have a look,” I countered.

“I’ve known you forever. Trust me when I say you have a look.”

“There is no look. But if there was a look it would be one of confusion.”

“And you’re confused because …?”

“I’m just wondering how you’re justified in giving relationship advice. I’m pretty sure you’ve gone out on a first date with every woman in Chicago, but somehow that whole second date thing eludes you.”

“I’m highly selective,” he said. He pulled himself up to sit on the granite counter. “This isn’t an exercise in dramatic irony, is it? You’re not going to blurt out that even though you’ve been pining after Evan all these years, now you realize it was really me you wanted all along?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said. “And I think your potatoes are burning.”

“Like hell they are,” he said, but he slid off the counter and turned down the heat, then started filling a plate for each of us.

I absolutely loved Flynn to death, but I wasn’t in love with him any more than he was in love with me, and I never had been. Of course, that hadn’t stopped me from sleeping with him all those years ago. He’d been angry at his father. I’d been angry at the world. He’d stolen the keys to his dad’s Harley, and we’d rocketed down Sheridan Road all the way to Wisconsin.

I didn’t remember which one of us initiated it. I only knew that he’d wanted to get laid, and I’d wanted the release. More than that, I’d wanted to get my first time over with. I wanted to make the fantasy that Evan would be my first go away. Because if I could put an end to that, maybe I could put an end to it all.

It hadn’t worked. Thankfully, our experiment in sexual healing hadn’t messed up our friendship. It had been weird for about a week. Then we’d gotten drunk on the beach, confessed that even though it had been fun and felt nice, neither one of us wanted a repeat performance, and continued on the way we’d been going. Only now I had the added benefit of being able to talk to him about sex stuff. Considering he came at the whole dating and girl thing from the perspective of a straight male, that was a pretty handy perk.

“Let’s back up to this idiot thing,” I said as he slid a plate in front of me. “Pretend you’re a guy—”

He cocked his head, cupped his balls, and lifted a brow.

I rolled my eyes. “Pretend you’re a guy who’s just walked away from a woman he’s attracted to.”

“We’re not playing this game, Ang. He didn’t walk away because you melted down when some assholes with knives came after you. He walked away because your fucking uncle made him fucking promise.”

“He damn sure managed to get over the promise in the alley before the assholes showed up.”

“He was thinking with his cock.”

“And he wasn’t when he went down on me?”

He opened his mouth to retort, then shrugged. “Score one for the little lady.”

I reveled in my victory, even though it was the purely Pyrrhric kind. And, frankly, the reason didn’t exactly matter. I’d thought for a shining moment that I’d get the man I’d always fantasized about, and then it had all gone to hell.

Honestly, I should have expected that.

“And you know what?” Flynn said, waving a spatula in my direction. “If he’s so worked up about keeping promises, he needs to keep the one he made to you.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, a fact which must have shown on my face, because Flynn just shook his head in exasperation.

“What do you think happened on that dance floor? In that alley? Not to mention your bed.”

“Not enough,” I muttered grumpily.

He lifted his Bloody Mary in salute. “True, but I was going to say that it was a promise, too, right? He was promising you one hell of a good time, and then he went and cut you off. Do girls get blue balls?”

“Yes,” I said flatly.

He snorted. “Well, I know guys do, and he must have a serious pair. I mean, shit, the guy got you off, had you right there naked, and still didn’t fuck you. Do you have any idea how much self-control that takes? The guy’s freaking Hercules.”

At that, I laughed outright. I’d known coming here was a good idea. Already, I felt better. “Maybe he’s just not attracted to me,” I said, forcing myself not to grin.

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

The smile I’d tried to suppress blossomed. “Well, duh. I’m not sleeping with you, remember? What good are you to me if you don’t lavish me with positive affirmations?”

“Good point.” He shoveled in the last of his eggs, then slid off the stool to go scrape the dregs from the pan to his plate. “You’re an exceptionally gorgeous woman with astounding acrobatic abilities in the sack. You have good taste in movies, terrible taste in candy, and you make a damn good Manhattan, thanks to my incredible teaching, of course.”

“Thank you,” I said graciously. “You’re wrong about Twizzlers. But I love you anyway.”

“As you should. But as for Evan Black …” He trailed off, shaking his head regretfully. “He’s an asshole who doesn’t keep his promises.”

“No, he’s not,” I said.

Flynn burst out laughing. “Oh, man. You really do have it bad.”

I sighed. Because I did. I really did.

Flynn took the last bite of his sausage, then glanced at my mostly untouched plate.

“I’m eating,” I said, shoveling a huge forkful of hash browns into my mouth. “Where are we going this week?” I asked, thumbing my nose at etiquette and talking with my mouth full.

Our weekly museum jaunts had started last May on the very day that we’d moved in together after I’d graduated from Northwestern. Before that, I’d lived on campus and Flynn had kept his tiny bedroom in the groundskeeper’s quarters that came with his father’s job on the massive Kenilworth estate just a few blocks from my uncle Jahn.

Flynn’s father, who rarely left his world of flowers and trees and shrubs, had taken the train into the city the day we moved into the apartment. He’d looked around the room, nodded approval, then pulled his son into a bear hug. I’m pretty sure there were tears in his eyes.

I’d felt a knot of jealousy curve in my belly. The neighborhood was safe and affluent to satisfy my parents’ concerns, but we’d taken the cheapest one bedroom we could find. We’d both wanted to pay our own way, and my starting salary at HJH&A wasn’t exactly impressive. Not that Flynn was doing much better between tending bar and working as a flight attendant. But we figured that we’d make do with me in the bedroom and Flynn in the living room—and the Oak Street Beach just a short bike ride away.

While the setup might have made Flynn’s dad proud, it had only frustrated my father, who made it more than clear that he’d happily buy me a condo if I would just say the word.

I remained silent.

Pops, as Flynn’s father liked to be called, had taken us out to breakfast, then led us to the Red Line. We’d asked no questions, just gone with him until we reached the stop at Roosevelt. Then he walked us to the museum campus, bought a hotdog from a vendor, and pointed to the Field Museum of Natural History. “Whenever you two have a day off,” he said. “Here, there,” he added, indicating the aquarium. “The Art Institute, one of those boat rides that shows you all the buildings. You explore. You learn. You see the world that you’re part of and you live in it. You understand me?” He poked Flynn in the chest. “That goes double for you. The opportunities you have flying all over the country. All over the world.” He sniffed, then pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. “If only your mother could see you.”

Flynn eyed me sideways, his expression a little amused and a little embarrassed. But I liked the idea of living in the world. Especially since I sometimes feared that I’d forgotten how to do that.

Now Flynn started the dishwasher before we headed toward the door. “Let’s do the aquarium this week.”

“How about the Art Institute?”

“We went there last week.”

I shrugged.

He eyed me sideways. “If you already knew where you wanted to go, why’d you ask me?”

“An overabundance of politeness?”

“Let me guess. The windows.”

I took his hand and smiled happily. “See how well you know me?”

I feel about the Chagall windows the way some people feel about Notre Dame or the National Cathedral or Westminster Abbey. There is something about the experience of looking at that stained glass, with the oddly fractured images, so many of which seem to have been caught mid-flight, that makes my soul want to soar.

I’d discovered them by accident one day when I’d gotten turned around trying to find the cafe, and I’d stood there, no longer hungry, and just watched the light move across the vibrant, vital blue.

I knew that Flynn didn’t get my fascination. Monet, Rembrandt, even Ivan Albright’s dark and brooding images were the things that captured his imagination. But to his credit he stood by my side, watching me as much as I was watching the windows.

“You know you’re not going to find an answer in the glass,” he said after we’d been standing there for well over half an hour.

“I might,” I countered. I turned to look at him. “Maybe I already have.”

“Yeah? What are you going to do?”

I shrugged, not sure how to put into words all the thoughts that had been bouncing around in my head as I’d stood there in my private meditation. The blue sky. The images that floated through an eternity, soaring but never falling. Evan’s voice telling me to let go. To fly.

And my own fears holding me back.

But when you got right down to it, what did I have to lose?

“I’m going to go for it,” I finally said, boiling all my thoughts down to their utmost simplicity.

“Well, look at you. Angelina’s getting her groove.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m not. Seriously. I’m proud of you. The guy wants you. You’ve wanted him since forever. So make your move. Tell him that he’s an idiot for keeping a promise to a dead man. All he’s doing is punishing you and giving himself blue balls. And if he sticks to his guns then he’s an idiot and doesn’t deserve you anyway.”